


Quicksand

by diamondgore



Series: Overindulged Paranoia [6]
Category: Dawn of X - Fandom, House of X - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Apocalypse and Rictor share a non alcoholic beverage, Apocalypse is a sneaky little man, there's symbolism and literature tropes if you look close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondgore/pseuds/diamondgore
Summary: Rictor doesn’t notice how vulnerable he is, resting his head on Apocalypse’s shoulder.
Relationships: En Sabah Nur & Julio Richter
Series: Overindulged Paranoia [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827157
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on Twitter, you know I've been yelling about this forever. 
> 
> The title is from Luna Shadow's "[The Nineties](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ft6Bkxq2zkE&ab_channel=LunaShadow)"

Apocalypse grits teeth as he turned to Rictor, remembering something important that had slipped his mind till this very moment. It wasn’t a lapse in calculation, it was something that fell through the cracks in the grand scheme of things. A simple mistake, easy to fix.

“You do not have a habitat,” Apocalypse says, his face scrunching tightly. “No place to sleep.”

“It’s cool, I can crash here,” Rictor responds lazily from the couch. The here that Rictor was talking about was the couch in Apocalypse’s laboratory. It wasn’t old, but it wasn’t new either. It had a certain smell to it, like faded cigarette smoke that Rictor quite liked.

“Nonsense. You are coming to my habitat. There you can rest, and we can continue our work tomorrow.”

Rictor thought about making a joke, some quick pithy come back about going home on the first date, but decided against it. He does not know Apocalypse very well, and quite frankly, he was simply at the mercy of an old genocidal God. Though Apocalypse doesn’t ask him to, he pulls himself off the couch and looks for his slippers as Apocalypse carefully packs different books on the table into a satchel. Rictor wasn’t sure what Apocalypse was planning, but it looked innocent enough as long as Apocalypse contained it to himself.

“Are you ready to go?” Apocalypse asks, it is something gentle and obscure to hear from someone as tough and terrifying as him. Rictor nods before Apocalypse unlocks the door to the laboratory with his code. Rictor makes a note of it, in case he ever needs to blot.

The air outside is smooth but humid, but with Krakoa being mostly a tropical biome, both of them were prepared for the slick air hitting their bodies. They’re more than appropriately dressed, with how much skin they’re showing. Apocalypse seems to bask in the nighttime air as if the moonlight powered him.

The walk to Apocalypse’s habitat is a short, brisk one. Rictor couldn’t understand if that was the case, why Apocalypse couldn’t leave his work over in the laboratory. However, he was never a man of science. Apocalypse’s habitat is an unassuming size, Rictor thinks, as Apocalypse types in the code to open the door.

It is a moderate affair, Apocalypse’s habitat that is. It is decorated simply with mostly stone and marble. Some of the writing on the walls is etched in a language that doesn’t make sense to Rictor, but also did not resemble the hieroglyphics he remembered reading about. The floor is covered in a thin layer of dust, for no reason that Rictor can fathom, but he cannot deny that this place feels like a home. Apocalypse possibly had it modeled after his old tomb. Maybe his old homes looked like this?

There are a few plants for greenery that surround the hall that leads to the kitchen. The kitchen was decorated in a similar way to the rest of the house, minus the high-tech appliances. There is a plain wooden table with two chairs. Everything seemed so bare-bones for a house that was supposedly Apocalypse’s.

Apocalypse takes off his shoes at the door. Rictor follows suit, deciding he would rather feel the odd sandy textured floor for himself. It was an odd choice on Apocalypse’s part, but Rictor likes it. It’s almost like quicksand, thinking if he doesn’t move fast enough he might sink right through.

“I forget your type needs sustenance to survive. Would you like to drink anything?” Apocalypse offers before placing his satchel on the table, it takes Rictor out of the moment.

“Sure,” He decides to not offend his host, “I’ll have whatever, you’re having.”

“I do not consume anything.”

“Juice, then?” Rictor responds with a smile. Apocalypse seems to oblige, as he walks into the kitchen while Rictor explores the rest of Apocalypse’s habitat.

He walks into the living room, where there is a seating area, but there is no coffee table. There is a rug of Persian design on the floor, intricate and probably hand woven. For some reason, despite his better judgment, Rictor finds himself wandering deeper into the living room, and taking a seat on the carpet.

He tilted his head to the ceiling to see if there are any more odd design choices that Apocalypse had put into another wise quaint home, but all he could see were thousands of little stars in the night sky sparkling. Apocalypse had installed glass paneling instead of a roof.

“Oh, you can see the stars,” Rictor says looking at the clear night sky, littered with stars. Krakoan nights are so far away from the light pollution of humanity, it’s almost bizarre to Rictor.

“Why would I hide them? They are reminders to us.” Apocalypse responds, catching him off guard as he waltzes into the living room with drinks.

They mean different things, of course, the stars that is. To Rictor, they remind him of the intense fire and oddity of Shatterstar, it was a reminder built into his name. To Apocalypse, they remind him of rebirth, & death: Moira & Genesis. Stars always have meaning, when they shine so bright, they are reminders of people who have the gravity to pull others in with their intensity.

Apocalypse and Rictor, are both just planets orbiting stars, unable to escape the profound influence of their significant others. In the grand scheme of things, they are their own people, but they were irrevocable changed by the people they met.

And perhaps, to each other, they are also stars. Still in their infancy, but both have a chance of reaching supernovae if the circumstances are right.

“Would you like to watch them with me?” Rictor says. It’s almost an innocent statement. Almost. It’s a test to see whether or not Apocalypse is a friend. The two glasses he’s carrying makes Rictor think Apocalypse is waiting for an invite. 

“I suppose. I have nothing else to do.” Apocalypse places the tray of drinks on the floor and then proceeds to sit down cross-legged. “I brought you Karkade. I do not often drink, but it is one of my preferred drinks. Reminds me of Egypt.”

Rictor looks at the glass, it’s innocent enough. The liquid is dark red, and he picks the glass closest to Apocalypse, gauging his reaction but Apocalypse doesn’t seem to mind whichever glass he picks. So, it’s probably not poisoned. With a deep breath, he takes a small sip and recognizes it as Jamacia.

“Oh,”

“You seem surprised.” Apocalypse takes his glass, which looks hilariously small in his gigantic hands, and takes a drink. A full drink, almost finishing half of the glass.

“It’s just familiar. I didn’t expect it,” His voice is small, somewhat embarrassed at enjoying a gift from Apocalypse. “Reminds me of home.”

Rictor pauses, “This entire place, it feels like home.”

Apocalypse’s lips pull into something, something like a smile. “Well, you are always welcome in my habitat, as long as you stay on Krakoa. You are welcome to come and go as you please.”

Rictor takes another drink, more thirsty than nervous now, as he looks back up at the sky through the glass ceiling. The night feels almost juvenile, now that Apocalypse has finally relaxed next to him. His shoulders are less tense, and his eyes are drifting towards the night sky. Whatever Apocalypse was looking for in the sky, Rictor tries to look for it too.

Almost too focused on seeing eye to eye with Apocalypse, Rictor doesn’t notice how vulnerable he is, resting his head on Apocalypse’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [@diamongore](https://diamondgore.tumblr.com), and on twitter [@goremeat! ](https://twitter.com/goremeat)
> 
> Maybe leave me a comment if you like it?


End file.
